Indispensable
by CrystallicSky
Summary: People of the CFO's caliber were irreplaceable. N/C, post-Season Two AU, written prior to Season Three premiere-


**Indispensable**

**By: CrystallicSky**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Metalocalypse or any of its characters, nor do I make any profit or attempt to with the writing of this or any of my other pieces.**

Warnings: Language, homosexuality, mention of gore, etc.

**--**

There were a lot of reasons why Nathan felt a little crazy these days.

The obvious one, of course, was at the forefront of his mind: Mordhaus had been, for the most part, burned down. He and the rest of the guys quite literally had no home and being the designated frontman of the band had its disadvantages in such a situation, as they all turned to _him_ for answers.

It was rough being suddenly depended on, especially when the one _he_ usually depended upon was not there to take care of everything.

Still, Nathan managed to get through it. He tried to think like _him;_ like the man who would actually know how to handle all this and he was able to reassure his bandmates. They were rich as hell, he informed them. The new record had just dropped, too, so they were even richer than _that._ They had millions of employees all over the world ready to cut off their own heads with a hacksaw at their slightest whim.

_Somebody_ would take care of them, and besides, _Charles_ surely had some contingency plans put in place in the event that something like this should happen. All they had to do was wait and everything would turn out alright.

Luckily, he was right. Immediately after the attack on Mordhaus, after the five of them had escaped the flaming wreckage of their home and had come across their badly wounded manager, a squadron of gears had found them and gone into action. With the incredible calm and precision that only those who daily worked with death and destruction could have, the group split up into two parts, the majority of them working to shoo Dethklok off somewhere safe while three of them rushed to the fallen lawyer's side, hefting his largely unresponsive form up and going to move him in a different direction.

Nathan had balked at the very idea of being separated from Charles just then. The guy was _injured;_ barely fucking breathing, and they wanted him to just walk away?! Just…just leave and have no idea whether or not he was still alive?! Hell no, that was _not_ gonna fly.

The only thing that'd allowed the gears to pull him away was the fact that their manager was still semi-conscious. To the lead singer's protests, he had offered the obviously strained wheeze of, "Go, Nathan, I'll be fine," before again being dragged off to Nathan-didn't-know-where.

That had calmed Nathan somewhat. Charles was okay with being separated and he was the smart one. He knew _everything,_ so it should be alright…right?

He tried not to question it while he and the band were escorted to an upscale hotel not too far off from where Mordhaus had once stood. As they were checked in, one of the senior gears (what the gears that'd been working for them for over a year and were still alive were known as) explained to them that everything was under control and that they would only being staying here until better arrangements were made. He informed them that Offdensen had been very clear in outlining emergency procedures and that their every need would be provided for as would complete privacy until such a time that they were ready to be seen in public once more.

The entire band appreciated the sentiment during their stay at the hotel and were oddly comforted every time they heard a gunshot outside from one of the gears killing off the troublesome paparazzi.

The stay itself had been exceedingly awful.

Murderface was the most psychologically stable of them at the moment, though even he jumped at sudden noises and refused to speak unless asked about what he wanted room service to send up.

Toki had been stupidly drunk on the night of the siege and for many days before that, but ever since, not a single drop of alcohol had passed his lips. He mostly sat in the corner of the room with the thousand-yard stare his companions had assumed he saved only for the presence of his parents.

Pickles, in opposition to the Norwegian's approach to the situation, had been abusing just about every substance he could get his hands on in an attempt to smother the memories of what he'd seen. He was fine during the day when he was drunk or high off his ass, but at night, the drummer often woke up screaming and would refuse to be consoled by his bandmates, huddling up wherever he was and shaking like a leaf until sunrise.

Skwisgaar had proved himself an unholy terror whenever his needs were not met and even if they _were_ met, he found something wrong with it. He snapped at others _much_ quicker than normal and whenever his food came over or undercooked or fresh clothing was not provided quick enough, he would always snarl hateful little comments at the staff despite the fact that they were doing their best. "De _butlers_ would nots has let dis happens," he would sneer. "De _butlers_ would not lets dis take so long!"

Nathan knew he was right. _Charles_ did everything perfect; _Charles_ always made sure they were satisfied in their daily needs automatically. He'd known how they'd liked things to run and ran them accordingly, unlike this hotel staff that seemed in comparison as if they were only winging it.

Now, he wasn't around to run things right.

Nathan didn't much like that he knew next to nothing about Charles's condition, either. Whenever he pulled a gear aside to ask, he was given the same answer, over and over again.

"Mr. Offdensen is in critical condition, my lord," they would all say. "He was badly injured and needs time to recover. You can see him when he's been cleared for visitors."

That wasn't a real answer, it was an evasion. He was _Nathan fucking Explosion_ and nobody was _telling_ him anything regarding the man who ran his empire! It was frustrating! What if something had happened? What if Charles had actually been dead all this time and they were just lying to him as long as possible to make him feel better?

_That_ was an unpleasant thought; one that kept bouncing around in Nathan's head as a frighteningly real possibility. He tried not to think so much, so that he wouldn't think about _that_ in particular.

Tensions amongst the band had been high when they'd at last been informed that Mordhaus was repaired; or at least the main bedrooms were, meaning that they could finally go home.

It provided _some_ comfort to be back home again and the relief was apparent amongst all the band members. In a more familiar environment, they were calmer: Murderface was less antsy, Toki spoke a bit more, Pickles did not wake up shrieking _every_ night, Skwisgaar's fuse got a bit longer, and Nathan…

Well, Nathan was about the same, really. He was _happy_ to be able to sleep in his own bed at night again, but he still didn't _know_ anything and he was often reminded of how little he knew every time he left his room and saw charred remains of hallways and furniture being replaced and repaired.

It often drove him to wondering of the fate of their manager: was _he_ to be replaced, or was he being repaired?

Nathan knew his odds of getting answers now were very, very low, but he'd absolutely _had_ to ask. A few days after moving back into what was left of Mordhaus, the lead singer poked his head out of his room and called aside a nearby gear, demanding to know the whereabouts of Charles.

Surprisingly, the answer was not the standard evasion.

"Mr. Offdensen is resting in the hospital wing, my lord" the gear helpfully provided. "He'll probably be tired and a little out of it from the meds, but you can see him if you want."

Needless to say, Nathan was headed down to the hospital wing immediately. He wasn't sure just _why_ but…he _had_ to check on Charles. He just…

He _had_ to. _Just_ to make sure he was alive.

Nathan was greeted first and foremost by the doctor whose name he didn't know or care about. When learning of the reason for his visit, the physician had dully pointed him in the right direction with the advice, "Try to keep it brief. He's sleeping right now and he needs…never mind. Do whatever."

Sure enough, upon entering the white and sterile room, the first thing he saw after a very, very, _very_ long period of not-knowing was Charles, unconscious in a hospital bed.

The first thing Nathan noticed was that he was breathing. Good. That was…kinda necessary. He was even breathing without one of those respirator thingies, so even better!

Still…Charles was _not_ looking his best. He hadn't been particularly tan before the ordeal, but now, his complexion was downright _paraffin_. He looked to have lost some weight, as well, if the sharply apparent collarbone just above the hem of the ugly aquamarine hospital gown was any indication, but he didn't look skeletal or anything like that, so…it could be worse. In terms of injuries, however, Charles had _definitely_ improved since last Nathan had seen him.

At least this time, the manager was no longer covered in open wounds.

After the run in with that…assassin or whatever he was, Charles had been pretty badly bloodied up, but now there wasn't a drop of blood on him. His nose, which had been broken, appeared to have healed up fine along with his previously-split lip, and Nathan decided that that was definitely good. What was less good was what _hadn't_ healed as well.

Charles's face was scarred.

Not too badly; certainly not immediately noticeable unless one was particularly close, but the faint white lines were very much there. One was clean and precise, trailing down the side of his face in a near-perfect arc; probably from the assassin's knife. The others were erratic and concentrated around Charles's eyes. That would make sense as he _had_ been wearing his glasses when that masked douchebag had started beating on him.

Didn't he know you weren't supposed to hit guys with glasses on?

What was worrying about the eye-scars was their concentration: the lid of the left eye had a faint array of scars while the right had none at all save for around it. Charles must've had his left eye closed when glass had been punched into it while the right one must've been open.

Glass had gotten _into_ one of Charles's eyes. Nathan wasn't sure how much of a problem that would turn out to be, but he sincerely hoped it wasn't much of one.

Well. Charles was alive. He clearly wasn't in the best shape of his life, but he was alive and that was all Nathan had wanted to know…right? He should be satisfied…right?

Fuck if he wasn't, though, and _that_ was annoying, mainly because the frontman didn't know _why_ he wasn't satisfied.

Noticing a chair on the left side of the bed, Nathan ventured over to it, plopping his considerable bulk upon the seat.

He sat there for a considerable amount of time, just…thinking.

Yes, yes, Nathan Explosion, _thinking!_ He hated that so many people figured him to be dumb; hated how retarded people apparently thought he was.

He was smart, kinda. He had thoughts and stuff. He just didn't know how to put them together as well as other people could, so he ended up _looking_ a little stupid.

Charles had never seemed to have such problems. He had always been a smooth-talker, from the day Nathan had first _met_ the guy! It'd been after a concert at a really shitty venue. Back then, Nathan hadn't even been in Dethklok, yet! Just some nobody vocalist in some nobody band in no-one-cares-Florida.

He'd been getting drunk after the performance, trying to forget about how little progress Goat Slaughter was making, and all of a sudden, some little man in a suit sidled up beside him, bought him a drink, and started talking.

The next thing Nathan was aware of was a pen in his hand as he signed his name on a contract, the suit grinning and promising things would get better from here on out; Nathan had talent and now he'd actually start _going_ places with it.

Of course, Charles had fulfilled his promise tenfold: Pickles had been found in a similar situation as Nathan (drinking copiously in an attempt to relive the glory days) and recruited, and then Murderface had been found backstage ranting about how the bassist they had was crap and he could do _much_ better (he could and did). Mostly complete, they'd decided the guitar player they had sucked pretty bad, too, and had come to the conclusion that there was only one guitarist in the world that was good enough: the already-infamous Skwisgaar Skwigelf.

At the time, the Swede was playing for Nordic Satan and they hadn't really been sure _how_ they were gonna get him to quit and join them instead, but Charles had only smiled and promised them he would take care of it. Sure enough, a mere _week_ later, the manager had triumphantly returned with the big blond man in tow, presenting Nathan with a contract bearing Skwisgaar's signature as assurance that he wasn't about to be skipping out on their band (as he'd done with so many others) any time soon. Not long after that, the four of them had stumbled across the undiscovered talent of Toki Wartooth, playing by himself in a park in the middle of the night and that was it: they were complete.

Their popularity and profits had _skyrocketed_ within only a few short months and now…

Now, _everyone_ knew the name Dethklok and they were so beloved by their (totally annoying) fans that they could get away with just about _anything_ with little to no consequence. They were the world's seventh largest economy for God's sakes! They were _Gods_ of Metal!

And all because of one silver-tongued and bespectacled manager who always knew just what to say to get people to sign on the dotted line.

That was a startling revelation for Nathan. He'd known Charles handled a lot of stuff for him and the guys and he was…maybe, sorta grateful for that…but he'd never realized that if he hadn't met Charles, he probably wouldn't have all the success he did right now.

After all, talent could only get you so far: eventually, you needed somebody to handle the business end of things.

Well, that totally sucked, 'cause Nathan's business-guy was hospitalized because some masked jerkoff had gotten it into his head to whoop his ass for no reason.

Nathan glanced back to the bed where Charles lay. Unbidden, his hand reached out to the sleeping figure. He wasn't quite sure what he was going to do, but his hand didn't seem to care what his brain was telling it and just kept on its own agenda.

It was almost a relief when another hand shot out and locked around his throat, stopping him from doing whatever he was going to do with its hard and unyielding grip around his windpipe.

Nathan choked and grapsed at the hand's wrist in an attempt to wrest it off, following the arm it was attached to all the way up to a feral-looking pair of hazel eyes.

Charles was awake.

Too busy being asphyxiated to be particularly happy about that, Nathan continued trying to pull the choke-hold off of him only to fail miserably. Christ, when had the manager gotten so _strong?_ And why was he trying to kill his own client for god's sakes?!

Then again, he was supposedly out of it from the meds…_and_ his right eye, the one that'd gotten glass in it, was looking a little paler than it should've been; probably half-blind…

Maybe Charles had mistaken him for…_that_ guy.

Not for the first time grateful for his somewhat thick neck (fairly difficult to strangle), Nathan managed to take in enough breath to speak. "Charles," he growled in the deep, guttural voice he normally saved for singing, "knock it _off,_ it's _me!_"

The wild look in Charles's eyes faded, a pinch of doubt creeping into them as the death-grip loosened just a bit. The deal was apparently sealed for him, however, when a lock of Nathan's long, dark hair brushed against his wrist.

The hand retracted immediately and fell back against the bed. Charles shut his eyes tightly and shook his head, as if to clear it of any masked assassin-related delusions. "…Nathan," he said slowly, his voice raspy from disuse. "I apologize. I…thought you were someone else."

"Yeah," Nathan coughed, rubbing instinctively at his throat, "don't worry about it…"

Charles glanced around, briefly analyzing his surroundings. "Where-?"

"The hospital wing," Nathan provided.

"Still?" his manager inquired, more to himself than to Nathan. His arm idly came up to his right shoulder, massaging it as if it were sore.

It probably was; on That Night, Nathan had seen blood _pouring_ from that shoulder and there'd been an equally bloody arrow lying on the ground nearby.

Who the fuck used _arrows,_ anymore? What was this, the Dark Ages? And if so, where was all the badass armor?

"Nathan…" Charles sharply began, calling the frontman's attention to him. "What happened? What's going on?"

"You don't know?" Nathan blurted. How weird; _Charles_ didn't know something!

"Nobody _tells_ me anything here," Charles muttered. "They don't want me thinking about work or something else just as stupid."

Oh, wow, the gears were even keeping _Offdensen_ in the dark? That settled it; Nathan was gonna lay down a new rule for Dethklok employees: no more hiding shit.

"The Revengencers or whatever attacked," Nathan said. "Burned down Mordhaus; that one guy fucked you up pretty bad and-"

"Are the boys alright?" Charles cut in. "You're fine, but is everyone else-"

"Yeah, don't worry about it. We're all cool. A little freaked out still, but…y'know, yeah, we're all fine."

Charles breathed an audible sigh of relief and Nathan couldn't help be impressed. Here the guy was, _in the hospital_ with a healing arrow-wound in his chest and what looked like a partially-blinded eye and he was _still_ worrying about Nathan and the guys.

_That_ was dedication.

"Good," the manager said simply in response. "And the haus – it's being rebuilt?"

"The gears are working on it." Green eyes briefly looked over the bedridden figure. "What about you?" Nathan demanded. "Are _you_ okay? 'cause I mean…you look like hell."

Charles snorted. "Thank you, Nathan," he offered in mock gratitude.

Nathan frowned. "I didn't mean it like that…I just-"

"I know, Nathan, I know." Charles glared briefly at the ceiling before answering, "I'm fine. I'm not…excellent, but I'll live. I _do_ think I'm soundly sick of this place, if that's what you're asking."

"I would be, too," Nathan grinned. "So…you're good here? Y'know…for now?"

"Not quite." At the lead singer's questioning stare, Charles clarified, "The assassin; did he escape?"

"I thought you'd be thinking about him," Nathan said. "When it happened…some of the gears were gonna kill him, but I stopped 'em. I thought, y'know…that douchebag tried to kill you, so…_you_ should be the one to kill him. I, uh…had the gears take him prisoner instead. They're…keeping him alive for you so you can take care of him whenever you feel like it."

Charles stared at him for a moment. "…Thank you, Nathan," he said eventually. "That's very…thoughtful of you. I'll be sure to take advantage of it soon."

A silence overtook them briefly. Nathan felt awkward not saying anything, but he likewise refused to open his mouth for knowledge that anything he might say would only make the situation awkwarder…more awkward? It wouldn't help things, was the point.

Suddenly, Charles spoke up. "Not surprisingly, Nathan," he said, "I've had quite a lot of time to think while I've been here; or I _have_ when I wasn't unconscious or drugged to the gills. There are…things I've kept secret from you. The boys, as well, but particularly you. For a while there…I was certain I was going to die. I've decided I don't want to take some of my secrets to the grave, after all; I'm going to be more honest with you from now on."

Nathan blinked. "Yeah…okay. You can…tell me whatever. Sure."

Hazel eyes stared at him seriously for a particularly long moment…

And then Nathan was yanked down by his hair to have his lips forcefully crushed against his manager's.

Holy crap…Charles was _kissing him…_

The kiss only lasted a couple of seconds, but it blanked out every last thought in Nathan's head immediately. Before he could even attempt to fill it with more, however, his hair was released and he was gently pushed backwards.

"I'm going back to work tomorrow," Charles coolly announced. "I don't care _what_ the hospital staff says; I can handle even a heavy workload by now. Let the boys know I'm alright," he said to Nathan. "Let them know that by tomorrow, they'll be back in good hands."

Nathan staggered to his feet with a nod. "Yeah," he agreed vaguely, "I'll, uh…I'll go do that…"

As he quietly walked out of the hospital wing, Nathan wondered many things. He wondered if the guys would be glad that their lawyer was doing alright. He wondered why he'd felt the need, out of all of them, to go check on that fact. He wondered why Charles had kissed him. He wondered why he didn't totally hate it.

Most of all, however, he wondered if flowers and chocolates were as much adequate gifts to ask a guy out on a date as they were to ask out a chick, or if he should start trying to figure out something else.

Aw, fuck it, he'd think of _something._ He wasn't _that_ dumb, after all.

**--**

**A/N: This was written prior to the Season 3 premiere (which was EPIC on a scale that I cannot even describe). Anyways, this is just my version of what happens after the Season 2 finale; we all know what REALLY happens, but I figured just in case Charles had died, I wanted an alternate series of events to believe in.**

**Thanks for reading, everyone; hope you liked it! :D**


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